


From Patria

by escspace



Series: A Family History [2]
Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: Flashback Era, Gen, Inspired by classic literature, Light Tragedy, M/M, Modern Ragar AU, sponsored by dark academia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29128197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escspace/pseuds/escspace
Summary: A peer and something akin to a friend, Karias Blerster observes Lukedonia’s upheaval alongside Rajak in the years following Sir Ragar’s departure.This fic directly follows after the events of Serpents in the Garden.
Relationships: Karias Blerster/Rajak Kertia
Series: A Family History [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071620
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10
Collections: The Modern Kertia Expansion Pack: Keeping Up with the Kertias





	From Patria

"I am afraid the clan leader is not available for an audience at this time, Sir Karias."

"I see. Would you mind passing a message to him for me then? Tell that guy that Karias Blerster will be very sad if he doesn't show up to our next garden affair."

"As you wish, Sir Karias."

Stiffly, the knight before me bowed and turned tail to march away. I had become accustomed to such displays of tiresome formality to an extent greater than I would have liked to admit, as I found myself less and less often in the company of Rajak Kertia, whom I considered a peer and, perhaps brazenly and to his exasperation, somewhat of a friend. At the very least, we held each other with comfortable regard and curiosity that was touched by kindness. It came as a personal surprise that I had become nearly indifferent to the routine, fatiguing formality presented by the deputies of the Kertia Clan, for my rather jovial nature was no secret to my peers or to myself: t _hat Karias Blerster, who acts unlike his parent and nearly unlike a noble,_ supposedly. I did not allocate very much of my time nor vitality to considering such comments, but, nonetheless, I likened myself to the rather perceptive sort and did not take pride in any degree of blindness. (After all, a Blerster's eyes were unmatched.) The particular sensitivity cultivated within me granted this juvenile soul a comparatively deeper level of perception—a wider field of vision—of one as guarded as Rajak Kertia, or so I had liked to believe.

Only a few years prior, Sir Ragar Kertia had departed Lukedonia, and his sole heir, Rajak Kertia, had taken on the mantle of Clan Leader of the Kertia Clan so shortly after his own coming of age: the first of my generation to become Clan Leader. In considering Sir Ragar's decisions, it troubled me somewhat that he had forced Rajak into a burdensome position of authority at such a premature time; he had denied his child the mercy of childhood. I only thought the previous Kertia Clan Leader ever more dubious as the distance between myself and his son stretched lonesomely in the subsequent years, as _Sir_ Rajak had become increasingly occupied with the duties of his clan, and I found myself more frequently only in the company of chilled absence when I would sit in the library or the garden or go traipsing around Lukedonia's stone monuments. Even so, I had the lucidity to withold dispensing such miry thoughts especially in the presence of Rajak, as I knew he possessed particular sensitivities regarding his father, and I did not wish for my careless comments to wound him any more than he had surely been wounded regardless of how guarded was the manner with which he held himself. Stately, silent, severe, he was Sir Rajak Kertia, Clan Leader of the Kertia Clan, but I continued to know him as Rajak, that pitiful, prideful, and earnest fool.

As I rounded the corner and approached the border of the Kertia estate, I overheard the conversation of two errant nobles, names and clans unknown to me. "How unfortunate it is to be of the Kertia Clan," one of them lamented without kindness. "I would have no pride as a noble if my prior clan leader had betrayed Lukedonia and left his lineage crippled—"

"Sir Ragar Kertia did not betray Lukedonia—"

"Then where is he? What does he command? To whom does he report? If he has not betrayed Lukedonia then at the very least he has betrayed his clan and, most of all, his bloodline—those descended directly from him." There was a shuffle as the adolescent tangled a fist into the other's hair, yanking it crudely so that the victim stumbled downwards. "A Clan Leader without their rightful soul weapon is no different from a dog at the Lord's heel and those of their clan lesser than even that."

"That's quite enough." I hastily appeared between them, and the accoster drew back in surprise.

"Sir Karias!"

At the very least, that he seemed to recognize me allowed one to waylay such sluggish formalities as introductions. I asked of him immediately, "What is your name, age, clan, and position?"

He stood with apprehensive stillness, conflicted as to how he should answer, the dread of the truth rather legible on his creased expression, and I was only a moment from more firmly encouraging an answer from him when he decided to speak: "Atticus Roscio, fifteen, of the Siriana Clan, Sir. I study within the eleventh school."

A mere child, born nearly yesterday. "And what business do you have here in the Kertia lands?"

"Er, Sir...I was..."

As his answer fizzled pathetically into the dry, dusty earth, I became well aware enough of his prior motivations, the shamefulness of which I suspected the child knew of as well, the knowledge apparent in the perturbation of his speech. What troubled me most of all, however, was his youth: nary even a single tenth of my own lifetime and yet already capable of such scorn for a peer for no other reason than the name they were associated with. After a moment of pointed observation, I shifted my focus towards the one in his company and discovered that I had seen her a handful of times before in passing when I had visited this locale to seek Rajak. "You are of the Kertia Clan," I observed of her.

She bowed slightly, her movements light, restrained, and utterly polite. "Yes, Sir Karias. Veda Amin, Sir." Well studied under the tutelage of the Kertia Clan, her voice was subdued to a near rasp and befittingly elusive. I suspected she could not be any older, if not even younger, than the one who had beleaguered her. I nodded once to indicate my gratitude for her ready answer and directed myself again towards the other boy. To him, I said, "Return to the Siriana lands."

"The heir of the Blerster Clan Leader will not trouble himself with such a trivial incident, will he?" the Roscio sheepishly postured.

"That is for me to decide."

"Yes, Sir." He then bowed, offered me a few mutterings that were servings of superficial etiquette that I have never been one to care for, and departed.

"My apologies that this has inconvenienced you, Sir Karias," said the girl.

Some strange iota within me felt disgusted for it. This feeling, incendiary and troublesome, was far from being directed at the child herself, but was rather mounted upon the compassionless social habit amongst Lukedonia's nobles to prioritize what was deemed as mannerly and obsequious as according to one's rank: stifling, trivial, and at its worst, emotionally stunting, as I had been made well aware of in the repeated company of Rajak Kertia, who outwardly preferred to call his own parent with reference to their clan rank, more liege and subject than father and son. Such a thing increasingly beset me upon every encounter I had with occasions in which Rajak would choose to carry himself with the singularly unfortunate and gelid manner that others had come to associate with his character. _What a tragic thing,_ I thought as I looked upon the child who bowed her head in supplication before me.

"There is nothing to apologize for," I said. Then, I stooped down to sit on my haunches so that her brown eyes were above my own. Smiling, I leaned forward, as though to tell her of a wonderful sort of conspiracy, and, speaking with quiet excitement, I imparted onto her that, "You don't have to call me Sir, you know."

"Then what shall I call you?"

I tilted my head, appearing to think for several seconds despite already knowing what was to be my answer. "How about...big brother?"

"Big brother..." she uttered carefully, her brow creased peculiarly as she turned the phrase over in her mind. Then, her expression brightened in such a way as to reveal that she had been waiting to hear her own utterance of these words for the majority of her young life, her smile unrestrained. "Big brother, then," she repeated with more confidence this time, and the mundane joy in her eyes and her juvenile gusto were experiences I found lovely and touching. Such a small gesture between us, perhaps even considered petty, and no doubt considered by some to be well beneath my station, but I found it quaintly rewarding nonetheless.

With all of the confidence my own heart could muster, I believed that there was strength in such displays of kindness. Suddenly, I jumped to my feet with dramatic swiftness and tilted forward to point an instructive finger upwards. "Never again hang your head so shamefully and never again subject yourself to such disparaging behavior. Do you know why?"

"Because...you're my brother?"

I slammed the palm of my hand against my chest with performative pride and the dull sound startled the child into an endearing alertness. "That's correct, young lady—how smart you are! You have _the_ Karias Blerster himself as your older brother." My countenance softened with the intention of being comforting in the familial sort of way as I peered closer, and I next said, in a quieter voice, "And it would make big brother very sad if he sees you getting bullied, all right?"

"Yes, Sir—big brother."

"Hm!" After nodding once, I bid her to return home and she trotted away, the jubilance in her step springing her higher than the blades of grass that teased at her dark, shiny shoes. As I watched her leave, I found myself rather proud of what I had done, and I felt happy for her.

* * *

Rajak Kertia was the last to emerge from the Lord's royal hall after the parade of elder clan leaders, all of whom were of older generations. The traditional black hood covered his hair in practice of modesty and shadowed his face against the late afternoon sun which brimmed past the arches, though I could easily recognize him by the ghostly drift of his movements nonetheless. He turned neatly, no doubt about to disappear in a way that implied he could not bear to be seen in this place.

I dashed forward and caught him by his slim wrist before he could flee.

"What?"

With a touch of abstruseness, I smiled at him, eager to have finally apprehended this moonlit-pale, elusive fae. "Come with me, Rajak," I beseeched of him.

He returned my gaze with his own silent observation, the clearness in his eyes rivalling my own in certain ways and embellished by that peculiar black mask he now wore, and nodded.

Rajak only pulled down the hood of his cloak when we stepped past the borders of the Lord's palace grounds, and the fabric sagged heavily against his slight shoulders throughout our humdrum journey. The both of us slowed as we approached the garden that led to my own home. Roses sprawled across the courtyard and wildflowers rolled over the surrounding sloping hills. An abundance of other flowers (of variety that I had guiltily shirked from studying during my own education) climbed up the brick walls, vines tangling into themselves like the coil of lovers with desperate hands outstretched to touch the steady warmth of the sun.

 _"Remember your own father, great godlike Achilles..."_ I began as I stepped ahead to lead the Kertia deeper past the obscured pathways of the garden and towards a clearing where, at the center, there was a white gazebo under which we may sit together. " _No doubt the countrymen round about him plague him now, with no one there to defend him, beat away disaster._

_No one—but at least he hears you’re still alive and his old heart rejoices, hopes rising, day by day, to see his beloved son come sailing home from Troy."_

I did not need to turn to see Rajak's curious expression to be prompted to offer an explanation for the sudden poetic spiel, but I took the time to look upon his fine face regardless, as the sight had become disappointingly rare to me lately. "I have been doing some reading," I elaborated. "Though it's terribly lonely without you."

"What is it that you read?" Rajak's voice had a markedly subdued quality akin to hesitation; he spoke as a newborn fawn walks, lightly and stumbling, and I thought it sounded as though he were learning to find his words again after so long and he was unsure of his ability to do so. The strange, unfamiliar distance between us agitated me; in his presence now, with the way he had elected to ask a question to which he already knew the answer, I felt akin to a stranger, for we had read and studied in each other's company in the past in the library many times before. I was doubtful that he had forgotten such things and so came to the conclusion that he simply did not know what else to say by way of conversation.

"The classics—Greek, Mesopotamian—oh!" I clutched at my chest dramatically and tilted my face upwards to let my hair fall back as it brushed past my cheeks and slid over my shoulders. "Let me tell you, Rajak: it's all so romantically tragic and, better yet, tragically romantic. The humans, they know of love to such a great degree. Isn't that grand? Even I would find difficulty in translating such emotion into words." I hummed. "I think, it is their mortality that makes the humans so romantic. What do you think, Rajak?"

"Yes, the humans, they must be... _grea_ t." His tone revealed no particular enthusiasm, but it endeared me nonetheless, the effort he was making for it instead of choosing to maintain his silence, but that it took him such awkward struggle in the first place to attempt a shadow of conversation with me—whom I liked to think was the Lukedonian closest to him at this time—caused it to dawn on me that he was in a rather sorry and isolated position at the moment and was parched for this sort of informal companionship, however insipid it may be.

Sighing, I sat down upon the stone steps of the circular gazebo at the center of the garden and threw him an expectant look for him to do the same after noticing that a few long seconds of silence had passed in which he did nothing but stand at disquieting attention.

He finally seated himself as well.

"You are tired," I said after a short while.

"I am in good health," he retorted.

"That's not what I mean."

"...You Blerster are far too perceptive."

"And you Kertia are far too elusive." Lightly, I scoffed and once again we were basking in the quiet.

In the distance was the faint chirping of some birds—small brown sparrows, perhaps—and the rustling of leaves and snapping of branches as those feathered creatures fluttered and hopped about, hidden from view within the shadow of shrubbery that was occasionally fractured with mosaics of sunlight that made warm, glaring shards pass over darting avian forms without friction.

I looked invitingly over to Rajak. That fair hair, that pale visage, that pure brow, seemed surrounded by an ashy halo from which jeweled eyes peered out at me in return. Their focus was profound, trusting, and defenseless, and it was such a look of awful, honest desolation that I found myself immediately silenced and my breath abruptly stilled even if I had possessed the intention of carrying on conversation. I waited for him to speak instead.

"I am not blind, Karias..." he muttered, his gaze breaking from mine to stare at birds some distance away. "I see how it is they look at me and hear what it is they say. I am not whole and am doubtful that I will ever be. When I stand before the Lord amongst the other clan leaders, the elders see in my place the inexperienced, pitiful offal discarded by Sir Ragar Kertia so that he could flee Lukedonia. Others say—he has condemned the Kertia Clan. They say he has disgraced us. They say he has betrayed the Lord."

"Rajak..."

" _He has not,_ Karias _._ My father has not discarded me. He has not condemned the clan. He has not disgraced or betrayed a single soul. _I_ wield Kartas; _I_ lead the clan, and Father entrusted this duty to me, because he saw me worthy. If the Kertia's disgrace is the fault of anyone, it is then myself. _"_ As his emotions rose, so too did he. Rajak cast me in his long shadow as he lifted his head in hardened pride and spoke with a conviction found only rarely within rare people. The young clan leader, the headstrong noble, the desperate half-god stood over me with the might of Atlas who was gifted the weight of the world. "I am the face and leader of the Kertia Clan regardless of my age or the state of my soul weapon, and neither I nor those of my clan are any less than any other. Sir Ragar Kertia's decisions are not mistaken, and I will prove this." Then, quieter and more tenderly, implored Rajak, "...Do you believe me, Karias?"

"I believe you," I said, for I could say nothing else.

His face softened and became illuminated with such earnest gratitude, I felt as though I had answered a prayer sacred to him, but I did not know what more I could say for Rajak, and at this, I came upon the realization that I had not the experience, power, nor position to truly turn the tide in his favor or clear a path for him through the endless, murky future which stretched incomprehensibly beyond us both in every direction like darkness. We were both feeble and foolish. But, I supposed, there was romance in hope.

I got to my feet in one urgent motion that swept upwards, making of myself a blasphemous finger that sprung towards the heavens to accuse non existent gods which rested above my head. Impulsively, recklessly, outrageously, I took his hands in my own. "I believe you..." I said again, this time like it was my own prayer.

Rajak bowed his head so that I could no longer see his expression, and I granted him this bit of subtle privacy, seeing only the fan of his pale lashes that caught the light in such a way so as to appear nearly translucent. "Thank you..." he uttered beautifully.

I would have this image of Rajak Kertia in my consideration for a long while after he had departed the Blerster grounds to return to his burdensome clan leader duties. I would think upon his tragic face and his shimmering voice, and it would stir a strange ache within me for that pitiful fool, and I would make that foolish decision to stay by his side regardless of whatever sorry fate the universe was so generous to gift him.


End file.
